


Silence and Shadows

by steveelotaku



Category: Watch Dogs (Video Game)
Genre: End Game Spoilers, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-11
Updated: 2017-11-27
Packaged: 2018-02-24 23:14:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 14,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2600066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/steveelotaku/pseuds/steveelotaku
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aiden finds himself thirsty for more revenge after his life received another shock.  But the shock waiting for him at the Club base is even bigger...and the danger he'll soon find himself in is bigger than he's seen before.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Revenge

ctOS scan

ERROR

facial recognition failed. subject could not be identified

22:00 hrs

\----

Clara Lille is dead.

Clara Lille is dead. Offline. Never coming back. AFK for good. Derezzed.

So why can’t I believe it?

I come home to the Bunker.  I watch the crate yard go by as the crate slips ever so stealthily into my hidden base.  And I wander in, expecting to see her seated there at the desk, her eyes wide as they fill with so much tantalizing code.  I expect her to briefly turn around and crack that insouciant smile of hers, to hear the cadence and clipped h’s of her French-Canadian accent.  I expect to see her leather jacket shining in the dim light of a dozen different screens, like neon on rain-washed Chicago streets. Instead, an empty chair greets me.  Gone are her friendly jabs, her lipstick and eyeliner, her cynical optimism.  I miss them all.  I miss her even doing the silly things she used to do to tease and oy me.

I remember when she heard the media calling me “The Fox.”

She used to do pointy ears behind my head when I was typing.  She used to sing “The Fox” with appropriately altered lyrics.

And now, there is only silence and shadows.

I tap into ctOS, desperate to find some trace, some hint of her.

I can access anyone’s home.   I can know what your favorite ice cream flavour is; I can tell how much mileage your car gets; I can even find out every dirty little secret you wrote in your files.

I see a 24 hour parade of celebrity news and the latest sightings of The Fox.  I swear people are taking selfies with me now.

I don’t care.

All I can hear are the bullets tearing into Clara’s body as they leave the guns of the South Side Club’s hired goons.

Fuck you, Damien. Fuck you.  You couldn’t stand not being in control, could you?  You couldn’t stand that I’d been working with anyone else.  So you took a talented woman, someone with all her life ahead of her, and you kill her.  You kill her, and for what?  To prove a point?  What did you prove exactly?  What I always knew.

You proved you were a fucking coward.

At least Maurice had the excuse of missing.  At least Iraq fought me like a man.  At least Lucky fucking Quinn had the excuse of being too old to fight.

You weren’t a god.  Not even close.

ctOS scan

Subject: Unknown

22:30 hrs.

\--

Aiden Pearce needs to take it easy.

I swear, he’s been ringing my phone off the hook lately, and he doesn’t pay me well enough for me to warrant doing half the things he asks.  I guess I feel I kinda owe the guy a bit.  It’s not my style, admittedly, but he’s not bad as people go.

But man, oh man, when a girl comes up in the proceedings, dear God does he never shut up.

He’s all like “Jordi, they killed her, those fucking bastards killed her, I want names, I want names, I want—“

Look, Aiden.  I get it.  Clara was a good friend to you and that.  But geez, can you not want to blow up Chicago every time a broad in your life dies or gets kidnapped?  I can’t make the sticky bombs fast enough.  I’m a fixer.  I kill people, I make bombs, I do whatever for the right price.  Aiden’s money is good.  He always delivers.

But I’m not his therapist.  And I have to say, fun as it is, killing people isn’t therapy.  It’s like drinking Jack when you’re thirsty.

So I get him a few locations and profiles of the guys I figure might have done the hit.   And thank God, they’re all bad people.  Aiden loves hitting bad people.  It’s like his hobby.  Desperate people need hobbies.  Some peoples’ hobbies make them desperate in turn.  I just ask: why couldn’t Aiden have taken the sensible shitty hobby and become a fan of the Chicago Cubs?

ctOS scan

subject: Aiden Pea—ERROR

\--

Jordi’s given me the names and mapped out the locations.

I’ve got the guns and the tools.  Time for vengeance.

Time for justice.

I am The Fox.  I punish the guilty of this city.  I hack the city.   I’ll find all of them.

I’ll hunt them all down.

No man can escape me.

I drive off, my Vespid roaring through the night as rain pours off of it.  Angry tears…tears of hate and sorrow.  I can’t cry so the night will cry for me.  My baton is tense in my hand in case I feel merciful.

Where was mercy when Clara died?  Where was justice when she fell bloodied on the cemetery ground?

And to think, I’d wanted to pull the trigger myself.

God, I’m useless.  I can do anything, control nearly anything…

But I couldn’t even save her.

ctOS scan

subject: ERROR

no such person exists

\--

Damn it, I told Aiden to wait.  I told him to calm down, to think it through.

But he ain’t listenin’, and he won’t listen.  Not to me.  Not to anyone.

He told me, “T-Bone.  They have to pay.”

My only question is, who else is gonna pay? I have a feeling Aiden’s not going to like whatever he finds.

What’s he gonna do, kill his problems away?

ctOS scan

subject: ERROR

 facial recognition failed. subject could not be identified.

\--

I’ve beaten down most of the room.  Gunshots have subdued others.  I’m a whirlwind of righteous fury.  Steam pipes and fuse boxes explode as I let out a roar of rage.

I grab the nearest mobster and begin beating him.

“SHE’S DEAD!  I WANT ANSWERS! WHY DID YOU DO IT?! WHY DID YOU?! WHY?!”

He begins to crack and waver.

“She-she-she…”

I beat him near to death.  I’m too angry to move.  I just fall down screaming.

“You’ll pay! ALL OF YOU! YOU FUCKING MURDERERS! SHE’S GONE!”

And then, I hear a voice that damn near breaks my heart.

“Gone?” a voice, uncannily like DedSec’s usual digital monotone.

“What—“

A digital arrow appears on a TV screen, pointing to a locked room.

“Gone?”

I hear it again. It keeps changing. It’s starting to sound familiar, but less and less digital.  I race toward the door and hack it open, it gliding smoothly with an electronic beep.

“Gone?”

There’s someone standing in the dark…and then the lights flash on.

“But not forgotten, surely? I ‘appen to be good at disappearing, Aiden.  Were you gonna tear down this city for lil old me?”

She’s like a ghost. A vision.  I reach out for her, desperate to feel her reality.

She grabs my hand.  It’s warm. Tight as I remembered.

“We need to talk, Aiden.  I’ve been a bad boy.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	2. Despite All My Rage

I am Aiden Pearce.  I am the vigilante. I am The Fox.  I am real.  But she…she can’t be.

Clara’s standing in front of me, holding my hand.  Meatspace, they call it.  Reality.  Cold, hard reality.  You can bank on that.  I’m just having a hard time believing what I’m seeing, what I’m feeling. I’m trembling, honestly.  I saw her die.  I saw her hit the ground and stop breathing.

Or did I?

I ran away pretty quickly. I was angry as hell, I was ready to tear Damien a new one for what he’d done.

_I hadn’t even looked for a pulse._

“Aiden?” she calls.  “Earth to Aiden.  We need to move. Now.”

I let go of her hand and run to follow her.  She’s running at pace that should be all but impossible for someone who took that much gunfire.  We run back to my Vespid and I gun the engine as I hit a blackout for the entire city block, jamming anyone’s cellphones too for extra safety, finally pulling into a back alley and parking.

I realize my heart’s been in my throat the whole time and I can barely breathe.

“Start. Talking.”

I’m gripping the steering wheel so tight my hands are dripping with sweat.  White-knuckle tension.

“Aiden—“

“You were dead!  I SAW YOU DIE!  Do you know how I’ve spent the last few months?!  Do you know what it’s like to walk into the Bunker and find nobody home but yourself?  Do you know what it’s like to lie awake at night hearing the gunshots, pulling your gun out and running to a hotel balcony and realize that there’s no one there?  Can you even understand what I’m feeling right now? In my dreams at night, I see two dead people. One’s my niece. The other’s you.”

Clara gives me a pained look, her eyes looking exactly how they did when I confronted her about her part in the death of my niece.  It’s that same guilty, ashamed, vulnerable look that she never otherwise shows.  I get the impression she hates lying.  It’s probably why she makes a good hacker.  She wants the truth to be visible for all to see.  I see the wings tattoo on her neck stretch and skew as she chokes on her words.

“Aiden…please…God knows I didn’t want to…I had hoped my last message would provide some kind of a hint.  I’m so, so, sorry…”

I extend a hand, hesitating, before I rest it gently on her shoulder.  She looks like a kid about to cry and though I don’t want to admit it, I look like one too.

I feel my voice clipping as I start to speak.

“Just how—how—did you do it?  Those were live rounds, those were real mobsters…”

She smirks smugly.  Good old Clara.  Still so proud of her work.  I like that.

“I paid off a fixer to make the first few shots of all of their guns blanks.  The plan working hinged on them not firing more than the amount I’d put in.  I then detonated squibs all over my body.  I used some funds I’d pooled to buy from some of the greatest effects artists in the business.  I said I wanted my work to look like _Martyrs_.  They do horror very well in Canada, you know.”

I want to both scold her and compliment her.  She’s still the Trapdoor Spider I worked with.  I almost want to kick myself for not catching her hint, for not checking the body after taking out the gangsters.  Of course she could pull this off.  It’s just kind of irritating she pulled it off on me.

“Clara. Thank you, you’re brilliant and as soon as you get back with me your cut is going way up.  Also, never do that again.”

She laughs before it breaks into sobbing.  She’s a strong woman.  But I can’t imagine the kind of toll it must have taken on her to just be dead for a few months.  She liked working with T-Bone, and he took her death badly.  So I don’t envy the prospect she faces of having to tell him she lied and faked her death.

“So why’d you do it?”

\--

“So why’d you do it?”

Mon dieu, Aiden, I wish I knew how to answer that.  I could say simply that I had to.  But I know that’s not good enough.  I don’t owe Aiden explanations.  But the man is a powder keg.  He grew up around the IRA, which is a little like if I was growing up around the FLQ, I guess, and while he might not be slugging back Guinness and radiating Irish pride…he’s still dangerous.

“Someone wanted me dead.  I decided to give them that.  I had planned to tell you, Aiden, but this little hostie de tabernacle had me backed into a corner.”

Aiden’s face resumes that infuriatingly boring veil of stoicism.

“Who was it?” he asked, poker-face going hard as usual.

I pull out my phone and show him a little text.

~(  : >

_Rats are smarter than you think._

< :  )~ _be a shame if you were still alive._

_It’d be embarrassing for me._

_Defalt is dead._

_Long live Defalt._

_In the kingdom of rats the fox is lunch._

_Spiders are nothing to me._

Aiden clenches his fist.

“Defalt…T-Bone said he was dead.  So does this.  Someone must be trying to impersonate him.”

“But why, Aiden?  Who on earth would ‘ave the desire or ability to replace Defalt?  He was good, but nobody liked him.”

“Nobody but the few people he used as body doubles.  It’s not hard to imagine one of those body doubles got a little crazy behind the rat mask and decided to play king of the mountain.  Notice that, aside from the rat ASCII art, this guy writes nothing like Defalt.  There’s no childish taunts, no leetspeak, nothing.  Just a lot of pseudo-poetic bullshit. ”

I sigh.

“He’s got connections, Aiden.  One time I just barely avoided an SUV with a machinegun attached to the passenger side door.  I’ve never seen anything like that…”

Aiden grows grim.

“Military connections, probably.  One of Iraq’s crew?”

“Could be, but the Black Viceroys are splintered.”

“That doesn’t mean they’re gone.”

“But who would lead them? I ‘aven’t any clue.”

“That is a problem.  Bedbug’s out of town and he wanted out of the gang life once he saw just how bad Iraq was.  He’s got his grandma to look after.”

Aiden’s getting deep in thought again.

“Well that rules out Bedbug.  You know the Black Viceroys better than I do, Aiden.  Give me some search terms, and I’ll see what I can do.  I’m not in DedSec’s networks anymore, so…”

Aiden smiles.

“…you’ll need my help,” he finishes, barely concealing laughter.

Way to rub it in, Aiden.

\--

A few miles away, on the phone…

“Yeah, this is T-Bone.  Aiden?  Yeah, how are you man?  I got the parts you wanted—“

He dropped his mug.

“WHAT?!”


	3. I Know Now Why You Cry, But It Is Something I Can Never Do

“You could have come to me!”

“I disappeared before you were even—“

“I might have left but I never pretended to be dead—“

I hear a lot of phrases like that being shouted at me by an irate T-Bone. 

“Why Raymond, I didn’t know you cared!” I smile, teasingly, exaggerating my accent.

Aiden is laughing it up in the background, a sound that reminds me uncannily of whisky and sandpaper.  Aiden doesn’t laugh much.  When he does, however, it’s pretty damn unsettling. 

Honestly though, it’s kinda cute in a way.  Aiden needs a sense of humor, desperately, so whenever he laughs it’s like he’s making progress towards acting like a human being.  I do think he really needed friends so he could get his head out of the mess of self-loathing and obsession he was drowning in.

I probably contributed to that.

“Please. T-Bone.  I am sorry.  But if you’d known what was happening—“

I show him the messages and he shuts up.

“Defalt…but that’s not…possible…”

“Aiden agrees.  We think it’s an impostor.  But he’s got an in on ctOS and he’s got enough manpower to back up any threat he makes.”

“Of course he’s an impostor, the guy died right before my eyes when I redirected his shitty poison gas trap!”

Aiden doesn’t stop laughing. At this point it’s kinda creeping me out.

“Aiden, do you have something to say?”

“I do, Clara. Something brilliant.  You’ll just die when you hear it.”

I groan and glare at him.

“I’m going to fake my death.  And I’m going to make it my little wish that Defalt comes to play at my funeral.  When I’m in the coffin, he’s around…I’ll pop out and he’s going to learn he’s not the only one who can play dead.”

I stare at Aiden in disbelief, then horror.

“Mon dieu, Aiden, you can’t be serious!”

“Do I look like I’m playing around?  You nearly died.  This city’s full of sick fucks just waiting to cut another slice of the pie.  And we’re rotting here in this crate.  I’m all ready to take them down.  Just give me a funeral.  Give me a place where I can lay these fuckers to rest and I will do it.  I will not let them take anyone else from me, Clara. Not you. Not T-Bone.  They took my niece, they took my life…but I will not let them take yours.  Do you hear me?!  I will not let them!  I am drawing a line.  I am cutting their service.  I am putting a fucking firewall up!  No more playing games. No more fixers.  It ends.  One way or another, it ends.  No more playing nice. Playing nice made you have to fake your death.  No.  I’m playing for keeps now.  No more Mr. Nice Fox. No more Mr. Nice Vigilante.”

Aiden’s scaring me now.  He’s moved in close.  I can smell alcohol on his breath and the fine, sterile smell of electronics and dust cleaner.  I can smell explosives, gunpowder…and aftershave.

“Don’t you get it, Clara?  Don’t you see?  I was born in the roar of an engine and the sound of a gunshot.  I was born in the screeching of metal and the snapping of my niece’s neck.  When I saw her favorite toy bounce in the street, when I saw her killer’s face looking back at me.  And I was supposed to believe it wasn’t personal.  I was supposed to swallow it.  To keep out of their dirty business.  That bullet was meant for me, Clara.  That bullet was meant for me.  I was supposed to die, not her!  I would have gladly taken it, too!  But now that I live and she’s dead, I’m stuck here fighting to make sure no one else has to die.  No more innocent lives. Surely you know the value of a life, Clara?  After all, you were the one who helped pull the trigger.  I have to keep telling myself that.  So I don’t grow attached.  Because I mean, what’s the point?  I tried to learn how to cook.  I tried to learn how to knit.  I tried to find anything, anything at all to save me from who I am.  But I know now there’s nothing better in my life than cracking the skull of a lowlife murderer and watching him fall lifeless in the street.  I sit there, trying to convince myself that’s all there is.  Because the alternative is too painful to contemplate.”

He’s got me pinned against the wall.  Every move is desperate, and harsh.  His eyes are full of Celtic fury, and his lungs are full of Guinness and bitterness.

“Fuck me, I love you, Clara! And I can’t fucking bear to lose you!”

T-Bone hits him with a wrench.

“Then for fuck’s sake, Aiden, get off of her and talk like a normal person, you drunk bastard!”

I’m shaking.  I look at Aiden, lying there, desperate, that damn scarf covering his mouth as he fell.

“Aiden…Aiden…Oh God, Aiden!” I find myself, screaming both in fear and in worry.

Aiden hauls himself up, but T-Bone’s faster.  He slams the hacker down into a chair and ties him there.

“T-Bone, let me go, so help me—“

“Like hell.  You’re going to sober up first.  I haven’t seen you this sauced since Pawnee.”

I walk up to Aiden, nervously.  He’s tied down, but he’s lost none of the ferocity.  How could I have missed this side of him?  He was never one for love…always so focused on business, on revenge…

And then I realize what he’s doing.

Every good hacker has a cover.  T-Bone’s a mechanic and sculptor.  I’m a tattoo artist.  Aiden never really had one.  He was all underworld all the time.  Even his sister, from what I understand, could see that—not that Aiden told her for a very long time (how did she stay so oblivious? Aiden never changes out of that stupid outfit!)

Being a vigilante IS his cover.

Deep down there’s something worse simmering.  A mess of anger, self-loathing, and IRA heritage all forming into a boiling point.  Aiden has become more than a vigilante.  He’s becoming his own worst nightmare.  Because it all started with a jaded thrillseeker trying to rob some rich fucks at a hotel.  None of this would have happened if it weren’t for that guilt warping him.

The poor bastard doesn’t even know how to grieve.

I’ve never seen Aiden cry.  I’ve never seen Aiden show much in the way of emotion beyond indifference, anger, and vague amusement.

I used to think I could decode the man. 

But then I realized something.  Aiden was never encrypted.  He wore his heart on his sleeve.

And when Lena died…any warmth, any feeling, any sense of wonder, hope, or love was taken from him.

And now he looks at me, someone responsible for his state, with love, for the first time, for reasons he can’t figure out and frankly, neither can I…

I can’t save you, Aiden Pearce.

But I can make sure you don’t take this city down with you when you fall.  I can help you be a hero, not some unstable vigilante, when some punk gets lucky and blows your brains out.

Dying is a terrible way to make a living.


	4. Not A Hero

I am the vigilante.

And right now, I’m sitting in a chair…or more accurately, I’m tied to one.  A beautiful woman is standing near me.  She’s terrified. I don’t think I’ve been doing anything to terrify her.

“Aiden? Mon ami? Are you awake?”

I try to maintain my composure.  I know I won’t get anywhere if I lose it.  Just relax and don’t fight it.

“What the fuck are you doing, Clara?!”

The key word here is “try.”

“Aiden.  I’ve been meaning to ‘ave a talk with you about something…” she begins, her voice trailing off with that same nervous vibrato I’d know anywhere.

“So.  You had to tie me up to have it?” I ask, irreverence creeping into my tone.  It’s still as blunt as ever, apparently, because she doesn’t laugh.

“You were drunk and passed out cold for an hour.  I saw my opportunity.  I went fox hunting.”

“Ha. Ha.”

The joke isn’t funny, and frankly, she doesn’t think it is either.  It’s more to keep the simmering tensions from boiling over.

“Besides, it was me who tied you up,” T-Bone says from outside of the room.  “I have some experience with kidnapping you, remember?”

“Aiden,” she continues, “I’m worried about you.  You’re drinking again, for one….”

“I know when I’ve—“

T-Bone leans his head in through the doorway.

“No, you don’t, Aiden!  You drink to get plastered, I know you too well!”

He’s right, which makes the emotional knife twisting in my gut even more painful.  I look up at Clara.  God, she looks vulnerable, much in the same way glass does.  It’s not the fact she’s weak, because she’s not.  She’s very strong.  But if she’s pushed too hard she shatters, and then people get hurt. 

The trapdoor spider couldn’t be a better symbol for her.

“I know you well enough to know that it wasn’t just my drinking that had you worried, Clara,” I respond.  “There’s something else bothering you too.  I’d like to hear it, unless you were planning to have T-Bone hit me with a wrench again.”

Clara sighs, her leather jacket gaining wrinkles and creases as she folds her arms.  She puts on the same stoic, grim face that she sported when I first tried to intimidate her. She’s not easily intimidated.  But I have to wonder now how much of what I’m seeing is an act.  How much she’s really feeling right now.  Fear? Love?  I’m not entirely sure what’s written in the biological code beneath that pale, neutral face gently shaped by the cold, wet weather of Montreal.

“Aiden.  The people call you a hero.  The Vigilante, as they say.  But I can’t help but feel they might ‘ave made a mistake, _mon ami_.”

I sigh.

“So long as they think I’m a hero, who cares what I do?”

Clara walks over and slaps me hard across the face, knocks my iconic hat off, and pulls the scarf off of my mouth.

“I care, for one!  And they _will_ care, Aiden, if you ‘aven’t got a ‘eart!  I swear, _mon dieu,_ Aiden!  I’ve seen you operate some days!  You’re still doing fixer work.  You’re still stealing from people who never did you wrong.  The point is, Aiden, you are a sociopath!”

T-Bone nodded.

“Aiden, I won’t pretend like I’ve got room to talk, but the lady has a point.  You ain’t got a shred of scruple, and the way you operate, you throw people in harm’s way constantly.  And before you get all high and mighty about me bringing up Lena, you kept doin’ that same damn work even after you went vigilante.  You can be a hero, or you can be a mercenary.  They ain’t the same thing, Aiden, and if you think they are, I hear Blume is hiring.”

Ouch.  Coming from T-Bone, that’s possibly the sharpest insult he could have thrown at me.

“So, Batman and Superman, what do _you_ suggest?” I snap back, frustrated and straining against the ropes.

“First off,” T-Bone states simply, “keep that gun holstered unless you absolutely have to use it.  I know you have an interestin’ way of stoppin’ criminals in cars, but please.  Unless they’re doin’ the armored car thing, _leave the grenade launcher at the Bunker._ ”

“I can live with that,” I say, wishing my hands were free so I could pull up my scarf and hide my face.  “I can hack steam pipes.  What else do you want me to stop doing?”

“No more fixer work,” Clara states flatly.  “What I mean specifically, is no more criminal activity.  If you’re going to be the city’s hero, you can’t be robbing it too.  You can steal from Blume.  Steal from ctOS heads.  But I want you to promise me you’ll stop robbing innocent people.  You wanna take from a human trafficker or a corrupt CEO, suit yourself.  But I don’t want to ‘ear that you’ve been taking from the people you’re supposed to be protecting.”

“Did you just tell me to get a real job?” I ask, half-jokingly.

“Wouldn’t hurt, Aiden,” T-Bone affirms.  “I can set you up doing repair work, if you like.  Or even commission work for electronics systems firms.  Think of it like fixer work, but without dead people involved.”

I grimace and sigh.

“Fine.  I’ll do it.  Maybe it’ll even help get some of the scum off my back.”

“And it’ll stop you from bitchin’ all day,” T-Bone replies.  “Don’t think I haven’t seen the mess you are at home.”

I leave T-Bone to go get some parts.  He’s sufficiently placated.  Now, that only leaves one other matter.

And it’s one Clara is staring at me about.

“Aiden,” she breathes. “We need to talk.”

“We just did,” I state, but I know that’s not what she means.

“We need to talk about us, Aiden.”


	5. Partners

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aiden is tied to a chair. Clara is coming to terms with her feelings. And T-Bone's out for parts.  
> What could possibly go wrong?

I look at Aiden.  Somehow, seeing him bound up like this makes him all the more appetizing.  _Mon dieu,_ I can’t believe I’m thinking like this.  There are few people out there who can stir anything in me.  I’ve met many people, all full of promises, and all of them have failed to deliver.  I’ve had some quiet nights with quiet company.  I’ve had a few wild nights, too.  But none of them have ever… _satisfied_. 

He’s like a fly in my web.

He’s tied to the chair and I want to _touch_ him so _badly._  

I think what fascinates me most about Aiden is how generic he is.  He’s a blank slate, appearance and even like, surface wise.  There’s no bluster. No swagger. 

But when he gets into vigilante mode there’s this burning rage at the injustices of the world, this dripping black venom of self-loathing mingling with it and making sparks.  He growls, he rages, but beneath that, deep under the whiskey and the stubble and that stupid scarf there’s something _more._   Something that maybe died with his niece, but I don’t think it did.

There’s this weird shred of like…love, empathy, and passion.  Aiden, I’d say, is a bit of a sociopath.  He’s extraordinarily selfish at times, but other times he just…he’d just lay down and die for you.

“About us?  What’s there to talk about, Clara?  We’re hackers. We’re partners.  We work together,” Aiden says, shrugging in spite of the ropes.

His response is a guarded one.

So I turn up the charm.

“Partners, Aiden?” I ask, a flirty tone in my voice.  “My, that’s an interesting choice of words.”

Aiden’s cheeks turn a faint pink.

“Partners and nothing else.  We do work.  That’s it.”

“Are you sure?” I ask, teasingly sliding off my leather jacket so Aiden can look at my pale skin gleaming in the harsh, cold white light of the monitors.  The DedSec tank top I have on is cut very low, exposing more than just my tattoos. I deliberately left a bra off.  I mean, it’s not like I usually wear one at home, but today… today just felt like a day to be _libre._

_And to sexually frustrate Aiden Pearce._ _Pour lui tenter et séduire.  Mon proie._

“Clara—“ Aiden begins, but he’s clearly looking at my chest, a bit entranced.

“I mean, Aiden, I think it’s a bit sad, _mon ami._ I sit here, day in, day out…and you don’t even _interrogate_ me anymore.”

I straddle him in the chair.  Sliding down the straps of my top just enough to make it look like it’ll fall off, I touch his face gently.  _Un petit geste pour commencer la seduction…_

“After all, I’m Badboy17…don’t you want to find out just ‘ow _bad_ I can be?”

Aiden almost headbutts me, but he holds back, waiting to see where I’m going with this.

So maybe he _does_ have a sex drive under all that paranoia after all.  _Ce que je croyais._

“Untie me,” Aiden grunts, “and you’ll find out what I do to bad boys.”

“Promises, promises,” I taunt, sliding my top down to my waist, baring my breasts.  “I want to watch you _squirm_ , ma petit choufleur, and I think I know all the best ways to do it…”

Aiden’s attention is rapt. He’s trying to hide his gaze, but he can’t.  _Pieg_ _é._   I flip off his hat and run a hand down his body.  It’s tight and muscular, every fiber hard as a rock from a lifetime of danger.  The coat hides most of it, as does the sweater, but his hips don’t lie and neither do his abs.  And Aiden is a born liar, so that takes doing.

A soft, muffled groan of embarrassment and lust.  Aiden’s pants are growing tighter by the second.  I take note of the size of the bulge.  He’s bigger than I expected, though not by much.  Just as well.  My mouth’s not nearly as big as his, and if his manhood matched his ego I’d have a few problems the morning after.

I unbutton my jeans, sliding the zipper down, but leaving them on. Just a glimpse of my panties.  _Rose et noir, innocence et cruauté._

Aiden is moaning and gasping, biting his lip.   _Comme un ados visionnant son premier porno._

And that’s when I get really daring.  I unzip his jeans and drag them down, exposing him.

_Son gros membre enflé, rompant ses caleçons. Sept pouces.  Pas mal._

_Pas mal de tout._

« Eh bien, Aiden, veux-tu que je suce un peu ta bite? »

Aiden grimaces.

“You just asked me if I wanted a blowjob in French, didn’t you.”

“Smart boy.”

“You’d be smarter if you were already doing it,” Aiden growls, his steely eyes meeting mine.

That’s when I do what I shouldn’t.

I cut the ropes.

I let Aiden free.

_Le renard est libre._

_Mon dieu,_ what have I done?

His strong hands tear my jeans down, rip the thong from my body.  The bit of black and pink lace lies shredded nearby.  His manhood is inches from my slit…

And he instead forces me to my knees, holding his length at my mouth.

“You know what to do, don’t you, Clara?  I mean, after all…”

He forces me down _mon dieu_

_Tabarnak_

_Hostie_

_Baise moi I want this._

And as I take every inch of him in my mouth I start to choke.

“…we’re _partners,_ ” he says, taunting.

\--

I can’t believe what I’m doing.

But god does it feel right.

She’s going to town on me, tasting me like nothing will ever sate her.   But since when does she feel like this about me?

 _Oh god, wake_ up, Aiden _, you idiot.  She’s been drooling over you for a long time.  It’s not just guilt in those eyes.  It’s desire._

But since when I have I ever shown any interest—

_Barring your interrogations?  Where you got all over her and felt her up and made her squirm?  Gee, who’d have thought that a little thing like that could get a girl in the mood?  Aiden, do you really think love is like hacking?  It’s not all silence and shadows, like your line of work._

_Sometimes it means getting loud and blowing your cover.  Sometimes it means just opening up and letting her in._

“Take it,” I mutter, not sure where the impulse is coming from.

She stops.  Did I blow it?

The smile on her face says otherwise.

“I will…but only on my terms, Aiden.”

And that’s when she moves like a trapdoor spider, knocking me on my back and dragging my shaft to her mouth, like a trapped insect to a spider’s fangs…

She takes it in…

And I feel alive for the first time in forever…my skin lights up like an Alienware laptop, my eyes blink like diodes, my whole meatspace is burning hot and alive, overheating in ways I didn’t know I could.

And then she stops.

“Huh?  Why did you—“

“ _Oh mon dieu!_ Aiden! T-Bone’s turning the bridge—“

It’s a mad scramble to get our clothes back on and act like nothing’s changed, like nothing’s going on.

We get all presentable, in the end, even if Clara has to hide her torn thong in her pocket.  She doesn’t say anything, but the look in those sad, beautiful eyes tells me that we’ll be continuing our little “discussion” later.

“Well, Aiden,” T-Bone says, “I’ve got the parts I need to update our equipment to meet the newest ctOS update.  That’ll help us track down this Defalt impostor.  Of course, it’ll take a while, so why don’t you and Clara run off for a while and find something else to do?  I’ll text you both when I’m done.

“Thank you,” I say, and grab a duffel bag, loading with a gun, ammo, and everything else I’ll need.

Clara grabs a purse she bought at Hot Topic.  It has a grinning round-headed skeleton on it asking why things never turn out like they should.  It’s from some movie she likes.  _Mr. Jack’s Strange Christmas_ or something.  If I know her, she’s found a way to cram a loaded gun, a few jammers, some clothes, and who knows what else into what should be by all rights too tiny a bag to hold it all.

“ _Merci_ , Raymond,” Clara says, her French-Canadian accent more evident than ever.  I swear sometimes she plays it up.  “I’ll take care of Aiden.”

_I’m sure you will._

She takes me out of the bunker and we ride down in the crate.  We don’t say anything for a moment.  Instead, we just look at each other, panting, hearts racing.  I can’t believe what’s happened between us, and I don’t think she can either.

“Aiden?” she asks, almost hesitantly.

“Clara?” I reply.

We slump against the walls of the crate, not even registering that we’ve reached the end of our destination.

“So…zat happened…” she says, in her Montreal barroom accent.

“It did,” I respond, not really sure what to say.  “Where do you want to go from here?”

“ _Mon dieu,_ Aiden, I don’t know. I’ve never done anything like that before.”

I almost laugh.

“I meant, where are we going?”

She blushes.

“Oh! We’re going back to an apartment I have downtown,” she explains.  “You never really get out much.  I was thinking we could go for Chinese takeout and have a quiet night at my place.  Or not so quiet, if you like.  But I _will_ make you sit down for a movie with me.”

“It’s not going to be…relentlessly grim, is it?”  I ask.  I’m not sure if I could take one of her weird Quebec angst movies.

“It’s _L’étrange noël de Monsieur Jack_.  Or, as they call it here, _The Nightmare Before Christmas._ ”

“What’s that about?” I ask, finally getting up.

“A skeleton gets bored of Halloween and takes over Christmas because it looks fun.”

A rare, genuine smile spreads over my features.

“I can live with that.”


	6. My Dearest Friend, If You Don't Mind...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aiden and Clara watch a movie.

My name is Aiden Pearce.

Or the Vigilante.  Or the Fox.  Whatever you prefer, honestly.

Clara seems to prefer “mon petit ami,” which she tells me is French for “boyfriend.”  I’m not sure I’m used to the title, but hell…if it means having her alive, in my arms…

It’s around eight p.m. in an old, forgotten apartment complex in the heart of Chicago.  It’s nightfall; the sky is as dark as her eyeliner and the stars sparkle hesitantly like the glow of the overhead lamp off her piercings.

The television is flickering, and it’s showing us the adventures of the sharpest-dressed skeleton I’ve ever seen and his struggle with chronic depression.  I suppose if I lived in a world that looked DedSec drew it, I’d be depressed and wanting new scenery too.  I didn’t expect to like the movie, to be honest.  I’m very…picky when it comes to movies.  The few occasions I watch a movie I skim some parts and rewind and reply others.  I can’t remember the last thing I even saw in theatres, let alone pirated.  I think it might have been a Nic Cage movie, but I can’t be sure. 

I wasn’t expecting a musical, either, but I wasn’t complaining.  I haven’t seen a Disney movie for a very, very long time.  I have no kids—I haven’t been with any woman long enough to have them, haven’t adopted, my niece is dead, and my nephew is far away from me so I don’t get him killed too.

God, I suck at being a parent.

I push the thoughts of regret and dead children out of my mind and let the sight of a dancing sack of bugs fill them instead.  I like the soundtrack—I’ll probably torrent it tonight.  Or maybe Clara will let me rip her copy; if I know her, she probably has every release of it on CD.

We grabbed Chinese takeout at a place not far from Clara’s.  Lo Wang’s Bar and Grill, it called itself. Its mascot was a rooster. I ‘m not sure if that’s a clever pun or just immature, but you really can’t pass up a pound of kung pao chicken for four bucks.  We bought far too much food for one night, but when you get into the hacking business, one night rapidly becomes three all-nighters.

Clara…I can’t take my eyes off her.

I let her touch me.  It’s a rare thing.  I don’t really go in much for touch.  I mean…it’s not like I don’t like being touched…it’s just…

I live a life of guns, code, and lies.  Touch is just another way of getting hurt.

But I want to get hurt here.  I want her to touch me and do things to me I’d never let anyone else do.

This is against everything I’ve ever believed in, every bit of social engineering I’ve prided myself on.  I’m supposed to be untouchable, hovering just out of view.  I live invisible and omniscient, like I’m playing God with the entirety of Chicago.

(And yet, everybody knows my name and takes selfies with me in the street.  Good job with the low profile, Aiden.)

I hesitate only a moment before wrapping my arms around her, pulling her small frame close to my chest.  I can feel her heart pounding.  She smells of white roses and leather. 

I’ve never been this close.  Not even when interrogating her.

I close my eyes and let her go to work, copying her motions.  She’s done this before, I can tell, but it’s new to me.  I’ve had dates with other women, but they’ve never gone anywhere serious.  I’m pretty detached from that sort of life. 

Lovers come and go, from what I’ve seen.  I’ve seen a million relationships start and fall apart in my life.  Before I stopped seeing my therapist, she criticized me for not developing any strong ties in my life, never really going beyond my family.  She called me a sociopath.  Probably not without merit, though I must admit she lost a lot of my respect when she published that book about me.  After only two sessions together, no less.   I heard it was a best seller for two weeks, but I may or may not have sabotaged her sales by releasing the details of our sessions (conveniently revealing she’d only ever seen me two times and that half her book was fiction and extrapolation.)

T-Bone says he has a copy for me, and that it’s the best laugh he had in ages.

“Aiden…” Clara moans, breaking me from thoughts.  Her dark, sorrowful eyes flutter as she crawls up on me, leaving a black kiss on my neck.   “I’m cold…”

“Do you have any extra blankets?” I ask, looking around briefly.

“No…” she admits, blushing.  “I keep meaning to get some, but all I have is my bed…”

She giggles irresistibly.

“You’re going to take me to bed this soon?” I smirk. 

Clara turns crimson.  Her face is pale enough that it’s noticeable even in the dim light.

“Oh mon dieu, Aiden, not like zat, oh geez, I’m being too forward…”

I rub down her back and she calms.

“Relax, Clara.  I got what you meant.  Besides, we’ve both been a bit…forward.”

Smiling at her warmly, I take my coat from the chair nearby and wrap her up in it.  She starts to purr.  Has this been what I’ve been missing for so long? I feel…peaceful.   Suddenly, it feels like the fake Defalt and all the problems of the world are a million miles away.

She’s like a hot shower after a long day.  She’s like the digital starlight of my world.  A million blinking lights in an all-consuming shadow.  When she moves it’s like watching the entire night sky spread out over the world, sleek and midnight black.  Every kiss is like a whispered prayer.

And now, silence.

Sweet, sweet silence.

\--

I can hardly believe what’s happening.  I mean, this is Aiden I’m on top of.  The vigilante himself.   And what’s really surprising is that he’s been a total gentilhomme tonight.  His rage seems to have cooled off, probably because he’s sober and I’m alive.

I hate lying to him, I really do.  But I just didn’t feel like I could tell him the truth…not right away.

All my life, I’ve been living lies.  My parents, they were involved with the FLQ, and I ran away from home not long after I learned the truth.  I got in with DedSec at a young age, back in its early incarnations.  The Montreal branch of DedSec taught me the ropes of hacking after I showed some promise by hacking a local police precinct as a prank.  From there it was lie after lie, taking me from one job to another until I settled comfortably into my role as an illegal immigrant and criminal.  Even if I reasoned that my work with DedSec was freeing the people, I knew that didn’t absolve me of my sins as a fixer.

But I feel pretty damn forgiven by the way Aiden’s touching me.

I got his niece killed.  I know.  I can’t get that guilt off my conscience.  I’ve gone to church and confessed it but it still feels hollow to me.  And I don’t know if anyone really understands it.  I didn’t pull the trigger, I didn’t provide the gun…

But I was responsible.

And yet…Aiden’s touch keeps saying “I forgive you.”  His kiss is this dark, liquor-soaked absolution.  His coat around me helps me feel a million miles away from how he felt about me when he learned the truth. 

The smell of fried rice and the space heater mingling together with the rough, artificial tang of the linoleum carpeting creates a bleak hope in me.  I want to finish my food, but I don’t want this moment to stop.  For the first time in my life I don’t feel like the spider hiding out with the misfits and rejects of the world. For the first time in my life I feel loved and I don’t want it to ever stop.

I kiss Aiden again, savouring the moment.  My mind drifts to the movie, putting fantasies of falling snow and Aiden in a black pinstripe suit kissing me on top of a moonlit hill…l’amour…

Like that’ll ever happen…at least I’m getting the kisses.

I feel sleepy, but I don’t want to just slip away…

My eyelids are heavy, and my whole body feels like lead wrapped around him.  I mutter something, something like “je t’aime” , but it comes out slurred and exhausted.  I’ve been running too much, running for too long.  Sans espoir, I was trying to hide from my past and hide from my future.   The Defalt impostor’s probably just some DedSec loser…someone who resented my connection to the Vigilante…

To Aiden…

To the man I…l…lo…ve…

I feel two hands lifting me.  I don’t fight, because the last thing I see before my eyes shut is Aiden’s softly smiling face as he carries me, still wrapped in his coat, off to my bed.  I feel the soft down blankets being pulled aside and my near-comatose body being slid underneath them.

“Sleep tight, Clara,” Aiden whispers, in that husky growl of his.  “Sweet dreams.”

Everything goes black.  I feel myself almost melt.

When I come to, there’s a scent of bacon frying and the smell of reheated Chinese food, with a hint of buttered toast.  I rise, let my jacket drop off, and stagger into the kitchen.  My Chemical Romance is blasting out of the speakers on my computer, and Aiden is wearing an apron, his scarf, and is busily turning the bacon over.

“Morning, Clara,” he says, as if this were the most ordinary thing in the world.  “How’d you sleep?  I was with you for part of it.  I then slept on the couch.  You looked so peaceful; I didn’t want to disturb you.  I don’t sleep so calmly sometimes.”

“Nightmares?”

“Something like that,” he admitted, putting a pinch of salt and pepper in the pan.  “I’ve trashed hotel rooms before from nightmares.  It gets me out of paying sometimes when I mention the PTSD, but…”

I shiver briefly, but the desire in me keeps me warm.  Aiden’s been a perfect gentleman in spite of his hyper-aggressive nature.  Maybe I’m finally mellowing him out.  Either that, or isolation has taken too much of a toll on him.

“So,” Aiden finally asks. “Are you going to stop eating me with your eyes and join me for breakfast?”

I blush and head over to the table.

Well, it’s a pretty good start to the morning…

…even if I see another rat picture appear on my phone.


	7. Somewhere That's Green

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Clara Lille contemplates domestic bliss with an ill-tempered vigilante who is trying to be a better person.  
> In which a cast of colourful characters is casually introduced.

 

Breakfast with Aiden Pearce is like nothing I’d ever imagined it would be.  For one, it’s pretty ordinary.  I mean, I’ve sat with Aiden doing the mundane before, but it’s usually always ended in gunfire.  This, however, is us just sitting and eating together like nothing out of the ordinary is happening.

I feel totally overwhelmed since Aiden showed me his world, his Chicago.  The city is gritty, grey and rainy most days, sure.  But it shows in a totally different light when he’s around and taking charge.  Blues blares from the man’s car stereo, and I’ve seen him slugging back whiskey after blowing some gangster’s brains out all over the street.  _Mon dieu_ , there’s something about the man that just turns me on completely. 

The funny thing is, it’s not the violence that arouses me.  In fact, that part of him just turns me off almost entirely.  It’d be a deal-breaker if it weren’t for those haunting eyes.  Just…I can see so much in them.  Fiery passion.  Rage.  Sadness.  Loneliness.  A thousand emotions that he keeps bottled up, because he’s afraid of them spilling over. 

The Fox is a man who cannot allow himself to be human, and I find that so utterly heartbreaking.   It’s why he’s almost become my pet project.  I love him, to be sure.  But I also want to change him.

DedSec is never taking me back.  I know that.  Once rumor started swirling I might have faked my death, I saw all the horrible shit people were saying about me.  Most of it having to do with me being in bed with The Fox, both figuratively and literally. 

I don’t give a shit.

In fact, if I’m honest with myself, this Defalt wannabe is probably just another one of Chicago DedSec’s losers after me.  I hear they aren’t like this in San Francisco, but Chicago’s version has all but disowned them, probably because they don’t follow the pretentious _hosties de tabarnak_ called the “Council of Daves.”

“Lost in thought, Clara?”

Aiden’s voice breaks me from my train of thought, and I realized I’ve been sitting here with a half-eaten strip of bacon on my fork.

“I don’t like where things have been going,” I admit.  “Not with us, I mean.  With…”

“With Defalt’s doppelganger.”

“Yes…Aiden, did DedSec say anything after I…vanished?”

He looks grim.

“They promised to avenge your death.  Now, you’re alive.  No one knows this but us.  At least, in theory.”

My heart drops like a rock.

“Mon dieu, Aiden…what should we do?  Chicago DedSec’s going to want me dead if they find out I tricked them…”

“Which is why we can’t count on Chicago DedSec.  Now, if we were going to talk about other branches…I heard something very interesting about a new one that’s opened up.”

“They’re all linked by the Council of Daves. We’re fucked if we go with them.”

Aiden laughs.

“This one isn’t—they just started out a year or two back.  T-Bone’s been looking into them.  He’s going down for Swelter Skelter soon, and I hear he’s running a contest for the best and brightest hackers out there.  It’s total bait for them.”

Swelter Skelter.  A desert drug rave that attracts weirdos like a corpse attracts flies.

This is where Aiden’s going to get help?

And yet, in spite of my initial disdain, my inner party girl wants to wear something utterly ridiculous and barely-there and go party in the desert with Aiden.  What would Aiden even wear to a thing like that?

 _Mon dieu_ , he’d probably just…wear what he always does.  I can just picture him, stubbornly sweating in the desert heat, refusing to take off his big leather trenchcoat and sweaters.

“So tell me about these guys,” I say, wolfing down some bacon. 

“They’re a relatively small group,” Aiden admits, “but they’ve got a lot of contacts and fans, and their own app.”

He eats a few bites of his eggs before bringing up one of DedSec’s propaganda videos.  It’s…stunning.  It’s not the same tired bullshit Chicago DedSec’s been doing.  Sure, there’s the skull-masked guy, but that’s about all that’s similar.  Everything here looks like a comic book, or an old B-movie poster.  It’s vibrant, there’s _art_ to it.

“Now, another reason T-Bone’s going down there,” he continues, “is rumors of something called Rodentia Academy.”

“Rodentia Academy?  What’s that, a school for rats?” I ask, incredulous as to why anyone would pick such a silly name.

“Yup.  Basically.  A school for a specific kind of masked, hacking rat.”

It hits me like a ton of bricks. _Mon dieu_ , of course this is where they’re coming from.  There’s a bunch of Defalt wannabes already out there, hacking and terrorizing and shit.  _Of course_ one is gonna want me dead.  I’m ex-DedSec, of course we’re not going to get along—these little shits probably get their kicks fighting anything remotely connected to DedSec.

“So zat’s where they’re coming from…”

“Most likely.  I’m also thinking whoever’s doing this might have ties to the Bratva.”

“The Bratva?  The Russian mob?”

Aiden nods.

“I’ve been doing some thinking lately, ever since I took down that human trafficking scheme.  The threads we’ve been pursuing from that have some unmistakably Russian ties, and I’m almost certain that the big parts of the operation are going down through San Francisco’s harbors.  And of course, this is happening right under the nose of ctOS 2.0.  Some guy named Douche runs it, apparently.  Dusan Nemec, I think was the name?  Everyone just calls him The Douche.”

“New number, same old _merde_ , Aiden.  So what’s the plan?  Do we go in there and bust heads?”

“I’m going to, eventually.  You can’t afford to blow your cover.”

Oh for fuck’s sake, Aiden.  Learn some social graces.  I’m not your damsel in distress…this time, at least.

“I’m with you whether you like it or not, Aiden.  You want me to stay put, you’ll have to tie me up.”

Aiden laughs behind his scarf.

“As tempting as that might be, I wasn’t going to stop you.”

After he puts his plate in the sink, he turns and faces me.

“You and I are going to take a trip to San Francisco in the coming months.  We’ll figure out everything we can do here first, and then when T-Bone goes down, so will we.”

My heart skips a beat.  Aiden and I…together in somewhere sunny and warm, maybe on a beach at some point…doing genuine good...

My mind drifts to a sunset I once saw on a postcard at an airport, back when I was coming to America.  Some sunset in America, shot at some point by someone only wanting a quick buck…but it still looked like paradise to me.  I want that with Aiden, more than I ever thought I did…

What I’m feeling…I’ve never felt before.  I’ve…been around.  I thought love was something that happened to other people.  And now…now I’m sitting here with him, planning, eating, daydreaming…

 _Mon dieu_ , this is how a little girl’s heart can get broken…

…but if it means being with him, I can live with a little risk.

Aiden notices I’m getting a little lost.

“Clara.  Either you’re not sleeping well, or there’s something big on your mind.  Talk to me.”

Oh Aiden…so beautiful, so strong, so oblivious…

“There’s…something…” I blush, a bit too conscious of how pale I am normally and how crimson my cheeks are.

“Is this about what happened at the Bunker?”

“Yes…and no…”  I murmur, sweating slightly.  “I…I…was just d-daydreaming a bit…”

“I’m not really the domestic type,” Aiden deadpans.  “But…”

My eyes grow wide as I watch his soften.

“I’ll see what I can do to make us work.”


	8. Nightcall

“And the latest poll about the vigilante has come in.  In recent weeks, Chicago’s own Aiden Pearce has been seemingly cleaning up his act, possible due to criticism online of his often excessive methods.  Gone are the high explosives and heavy assault weaponry.  In their place are daredevil stunts and football-style tackles.  Shockingly, 90% of Chicago citizens are in favor of Aiden’s activities, citing the exposure of a human trafficking ring that he is believed to have been actively fighting.  In spite of this, the Chicago Police Department reiterates that Aiden Pearce is a criminal who will eventually be brought to justice.  With your vigilante news, this is WKZTV News, Chicago.”

T-Bone: You know, it’s kind of sad that news is so slow in Chicago that they need to have a special section for vigilante news.

T-Bone’s texted me.  He must be watching the news too.

TheFox: What can I say?  Guess I’m special.

T-Bone: Anyway, what I was working on won’t be ready for a bit yet.  I’m having some trouble getting it to work, what with the new ctOS update.

TheFox:  Don’t worry about it.  Badboy and I have the evening covered.

T-Bone: …

TheFox:  What?

T-Bone:  You know damn well what.  Don’t get her killed or knocked up, okay?  I ain’t much of a granddad.

TheFox: #nopromises ;)

T-Bone: Fucking emoji?  Who are you and what have you done with Aiden Pearce?

I laugh and lock my phone.  Making T-Bone irritated is a fun little hobby.  He’s easily annoyed, but he’s a good sport generally.  He’s right though.  I am a different man.  Maurice Vega found that out.

When Lena died, I was ready to put a bullet in his brain.  Of course, I hadn’t realized that she was never the target.  Maurice Vega was a lot of things, but he wasn’t a child killer.  Hearing his guilt from every burner phone of his I turned up started changing my view, and when Lucky Quinn told me I was the target, I knew how short-sighted I’d been.  These guys are monsters, no question, but killing a child seems beyond the pale even for them.  It’s their one good point.

Not that it’ll save any of them from me.

Except Maurice.  He got to walk, and for a very good reason.

I’d changed.  He wanted to change.  If I put a bullet in his head, even though he was begging for death, he’d be denied the chance for a better life. 

When Lena died, I put the barrel of my gun straight into my mouth after spending the night with the neck of a whiskey bottle in it for an hour.  I almost pulled the trigger.

Almost.

I’m getting lost in thought again, clearly, because Clara is busily poking me.

“Aiden?  Earth to Aiden?  Hello?”

“Sorry, Clara.  I was just thinking about old times.”

“The good kind of old times, or the old times that make you want to drink?”

I pause.

“Both, but mostly the former.”

“ _Mon Dieu_ , Aiden.  You’re getting better, but you’re edgier than my teenage fanboys.”

“Says the girl who shops only at Hot Topic.”

It’s at that moment my phone buzzes.  A text pops up onscreen.

FOUND WHERE THE MAD MAX WANNABE CARS ARE COMING FROM.  THEY’RE OLD VICEROY JUNK SOLD BLACK MARKET.  APPARENTLY THE BUYER HAS THE INITIALS “R.A.”.  I’LL LET YOU KNOW MORE WHEN I FIND MORE.—T-BONE

“Anything?” Clara asks.

“T-Bone found a buyer on the Viceroy cars that nearly blew you away weeks back.  Not much, but it’s something.”

“That’s comforting, at least.  By the way, have you got the DedSec app yet?”

I shake my head.

“You should download it, Aiden.  San Francisco DedSec knows their shit.  Not like Chicago.”

“I’ll do it tonight,” I say.  “I want to research them a bit more first.  You know me.  Paranoid.  Plus, I want to also check the latest tabs I have on the Bratva.”

“I’ll help you,” she says.  “There’s nothing I hate more than human traffickers.”

It hits me.

“R.A.—that’s gotta be Rodentia Academy.  Whoever’s using those initials is probably a Defalt impersonator.  Which means it may well be the guy targeting us is a Rodentia Academy member.  I’m almost certain of it.”

“That would make sense,” Clara adds.  “But before we go to fight a bunch of creeps in masks, can we go for a burger?”

“Let’s,” Aiden adds.  “Where?”

“McDonalds okay?”

“Sure.”

We head off into the night, the _Hotline Miami_ soundtrack blaring from Clara’s car speakers.


	9. Narrative Causality

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which an old trick is tested.

So it seems I can’t even go for a burger without running into trouble.

After we get a couple McDoubles, we only get halfway through them before a Viceroy truck shows up, fully armed.  It’s not Viceroy-driven, though.  I can tell, because there’s rat icons all over the damn thing and a couple M60s mounted on the side.

“Aiden,” Clara whispers, “it’s Rodentia Academy.”

I swallow hard.  Checking my coat, I realize the only thing I have in my pockets are a couple Blackouts, which only have a fifty percent chance of working now that ctOS 2.0’s being added to the Chicago network, a silenced 1911 (scourge of the Chicago Underworld), and one frag grenade.

“Don’t suppose you’re packing anything in that purse?”

“I have a small gun and a communications jammer.  But you know with the new ctOS…”

“Fifty percent chance,” I sigh.

“Luckily for us,” Clara says, “I have other ways of doing damage.”

She drags me into a washroom, where she immediately starts redoing her makeup and messing up her hair.  After taking all my weapons, she takes my coat and hat and throws them into a nearby garbage bin, much to my protesting.

“You can get it later, and even if you can’t you have like five hundred of the things.”

I hear the Rodentia Academy people storming into the restaurant.  I can hear the whine of their equipment, the hum of the glowing of their masks, and a cocked assault rifle. 

She takes off her shirt and for a moment my breath is taken away.

“Give me your sweater,” she says, and I obey without question.  She puts it on, rolling up the sleeves, and leaving the front of it so far unzipped it’s a wonder it stays on.  I’m left in an undershirt, which she quickly accessorizes with a spiked collar.  She then draws eyeliner on me, and kisses me a few times so that her new shade of pink lipstick is visible all over my face.

“What are we gonna do?” I ask.

“Pretend we’re drunk lovers.”

“We’re fifty percent that already,” I remark.

“We’ll make that 100% if we get out alive.” 

“So what’s the plan?”

She smiles.

“We walk out, all over each other, distract the guards a bit, hit the blackout and comm jammer, then steal their truck and head home.”

“And if that fails?”

“We shoot our way out.”

She pauses.

“Hold up, let me crank up the music on my phone so that we sound like a couple of teenage lovebirds.”

I sigh.

“We look 30-40 years old apiece.  This is never going to work.”

She cranks up some Panic! At The Disco, and I cling onto her, doing my best staggering drunk impression.  I mean, I hardly need to try, as I’ve been blackout drunk more times than I care to think.

“We know the Vigilante’s here!  Come out!” shouts one rat guard.

There’s screaming and hiding behind the counter.

That’s when we stumble out of the washroom.

“Yeah, baby!” she says, pulling me close, slurring every syllable.  “C’mon, give me another kiss…”

I kiss her, deliberately missing a few times.

“Yeah, c’mon, let’s get back to our place.”

There’s three different Rodentia Academy rat-masked guards, all clutching Goblin assault rifles.  These scum are well-armed…

Shooting our way out may be difficult.

We’re struggling deliberately, knocking over peoples’ drinks and chairs and such.  We’re almost at the door, but then one of the guards turns and stops us.

“You two!”

We freeze, but play innocent.

“Aw, c’mon, man…we’re just headin’ home…”

“Did you two see the Vigilante?”

I light up perkily and laugh.

“Yeah, that edgy old fuck? He totally snuck out through the back.  He’s on foot, you can probably catch him if you run fast enough.”

“Thanks.  You may go.”

The team leader directs them out through the back.  I wait for the last of them to go before we make our way to the truck.

In moments, we’ve hotwired it.

Hitting the first Blackout does nothing.  Hitting the second takes out the entire block.  No light for a good mile.  The comms jammer thankfully works, so we speed off, taking a series of shortcuts around the city to drop the truck off to T-Bone.

By the time it’s delivered, we collapse nervously against a wall in a rough part of town.

“We’re barely dressed, we almost died, we just stole a heavily-armed assault vehicle from a powerful gang, and my heart is somewhere in my throat.  Clara…”

She sighs.

“Aiden, are you really such a pussy?”

I smirk.

“…I was gonna say thank you for showing me a good time.  I can’t believe that worked.”

“Neither can I.  But it’s called improv for a reason, Aiden.”

I pin her to the wall with a kiss, holding her arms back.  She gasps and returns the kiss, wrapping her legs around me.  I may be the one holding her down, but she isn’t holding back.  Her lips are almost on fire from the sheer passion she’s giving it.  She’s a fighter. 

After we part, she gasps even louder.

“ _Mon dieu,_ Aiden, what was that?!”

I laugh.

“Improv.”

Silence.

Shadows.

There’s nothing but a halo of light on the ground from the streetlight and boarded-up old houses around us.  There’s just us and the night.

We’re almost stranded.  I have no passes, and my phone’s battery is toast because I ended up screwing with so much of the city infrastructure out of paranoia when we first left the restaurant.  Clara’s isn’t much better.

“Get me Jordi,” I say to her.

“Aiden, do you trust him?”

“No.  But we need a car and he owes me.”

She dials him.

“Hello?”

“Hello, Jordi,” I answer.  “I need a car.”

“I’m guessing the old one got left at McDonalds?”

“How do you know that?” I growl.

“Easy, Batman.  It’s all over the TV news.  The police found a bunch of Defalt wannabes looking completely baffled and clueless as their ‘highly planned strategic assault’ on the Vigilante got completely screwed by ‘two drunk teenagers.’  You doing cosplay, Aiden? Cause I gotta say, gothwear is _not_ your look.”

I laugh.

“Shut up and get me a car, Jordi.”

“Okay, okay.  You want something flashy or subtle?”

“Anything that’ll get me and a lady where we wanna go in one piece.”

“There’ll be a muscle car near your position in five minutes.  That’s that debt cleared, Aiden.  Next one’ll cost you.”

“How much?”

“Depends when you order.  If it’s after one of your ridiculous stunts, I’ll make you pay up.  If it’s just for a quiet night out, I might give it to you on the house.  ‘Cause I love your style, but one day someone’s gonna bring the heat down on you and I don’t wanna be there when it happens.”

“Thanks, Jordi.”

Sure enough, he’s good on his word.  The car arrives in five minutes, and it’s in perfect condition.

We speed back to Clara’s apartment.

“We heading back to the Bunker?”

“Not tonight,” I say.  “I don’t think either of us is up to it.  It’s not like the beds there are any good.”

“Too true,” she agrees.  “My bed will be juuuust fine.”

It’s teasing. Flirtatious.

And as she handcuffs me to her bed later that night, I have to agree.

She rides me into the night, her strong hands caressing me, giving me the comfort I desperately seek.  Her dark kisses in the moonlight, the dim lighting of her apartment, it all settles the tension in my soul, the long emptiness that exists between the bursts of sudden violence and illicit thrills that make up my pursuit of justice.

I’m not a hero.  I’m not there yet.

But as she moans my name, I feel like I might be getting closer.

The bars on her bedpost break, and the handcuff chain slips free.

My turn.

Clara’s scream might have woken someone up. 

Might have.

But as I finish, as she moans out the best orgasm of her life…

I can’t find myself heroic enough to care.

But if I’m her hero…then that’s all that matters.


	10. Still Of The Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's 3 AM.

I wake up somewhere around 3 AM.

Aiden’s worn out, I can tell—he’s out like a light, still wearing the spiked collar.  I don’t remember uncuffing him, but that’s probably more of a case of me being utterly drained.  It’s such a pain being hunted by rat-masked hacker creeps.

Some of these guys are probably bored mercenaries, too, judging by the gear.  I’m thinking Umeni-Zulu, but I can’t be certain.  If it _is_ them, though, it’s probably tied to Blume, which would contradict everything they’re fighting for…

Ugh, my head hurts just thinking about it.

The broken bars on my headboard will be tough to explain to the landlord, but I’ll just mention I had a guest stay the night who had PTSD.  He’s an old softy, anyway.

I look over Aiden, and I just think how glad I am to be alive.

I hear him mutter “Clara…” softly in his sleep, and I smile faintly.  Chicago has been many things to me, but it’s never been a source of happiness, really.  I came here looking for hope, looking for a shot at a better life. 

Guess it took being “dead” to really come alive.

I’m looking down my naked body.  It’s slightly bruised, though it’s not Aiden’s doing, not entirely.  I can always feel him hold back a little bit.  I think he’s scared of himself.  I can see a few red finger marks on my breasts and I think there might be one or two on my throat, but the bruises on my thighs and wrists are all me. 

It occurs to me I haven’t wiped off my makeup from my disguise yet, so I slip on a pair of panties and walk over to the bathroom.  I click on the light, watching as the cold, harsh light of the fluorescent lamp up above washes over my body.  It makes my bruises and makeup shine, glimmer like watercolors dabbed with glitter.  My nails are black still, but it’s the last shred of gothicness on my body.  I was done up so glam that I didn’t even recognize my reflection.

Maybe there was a time where I wasn’t dark and morbid.  _Mon dieu_ , maybe there was time where I wouldn’t have been like this.

And that’s when I see a shadow loom over me.  I grab a gun from under the sink.

“You’re not alone in this,” the shadow’s voice speaks.  “Put the gun down, Clara.  It’s just me.”

Aiden steps into the light, dressed in a pair of boxers, rubbing at a scar on his chest.  I take in the sight.  Aiden isn’t entirely ripped like the vigilantes you see in movies and on TV.  He’s got muscle, sure, but he’s not a gym rat.  He keeps in reasonably good shape, but there’s some fat here and there, and his muscles aren’t super defined.

“Sorry, you seemed like you were out of it.  Didn’t meant to wake you, _ch_ _érie._ ”

“I don’t sleep easily.”

“Can’t imagine why,” I quip, but it rings hollow.

“The sarcasm.  The makeup.  It’s a cover, isn’t it?” he asks.

“Aren’t we all wearing covers, Aiden?  We’re always ‘iding behind our masks.”

Aiden’s eyes soften.

“There was something in your family, right?  Terrorism.”

“How did you—“

Aiden shrugs.

“Because that’s what it was with my family. My father was a brutal terrorist.  My mother kept me far away from him.  You’re acting like she and I did, trying to distance ourselves from our family’s history of violence, and not doing a very good job.”

I sit back on a wicker basket and he sits on the rim of the bathtub.

“You look in the mirror,” he continues, “and you struggle to figure out who you are.  I kept doing that for hours after my niece died.”

He stands beside me and puts his hands on my chest.  I gently reach up and stroke his scars.

“I figured out who I was…at least, I thought I did.  But now I’m starting to realize I couldn’t live with the me I’d found after staring at the bottom of a whiskey bottle.  I don’t feel bad about killing Lucky Quinn.  Don’t think I ever will.  But I don’t want to become my father.  I know that.  And as for you…”

“Yes, Aiden?”

“I know regardless of what you’re wearing, what you’re hiding behind, you’re still Clara Lille.  You’re still an angel.”

I walk over to the sink and wipe my face clean.

“Like hell I am…”

“An angel whose wings get a little dirty is still an angel.”

I look at him, tears forming in my eyes unwillingly.

“’ow can you say zat after everything I’ve done?!”

He pulls me tight to his chest.

“Because you believed in me even when I was nothing but a filthy criminal.  I don’t have any friends, Clara, and I know that’s my fault.  But until I met you, I didn’t know anyone I could call a friend.  I didn’t know anyone I could say I had any feelings for.  When Lena died…my heart died with her.  My own sister noticed me drifting away…and I didn’t want to stop drifting until I died.”

Aiden’s kisses are soft on my battered skin, and while I know I drive Aiden wild no matter what, it’s a bit hard to look at some of the wear and tear this whole affair’s brought down on me.  Rodentia Academy’s manhunt on me is making me feel insecure for the first time in a long time.

“Breathe, Clara.  Seriously.  You’re holding your breath and it’s kind of making me nervous.”

She gasps, sobs quietly, and resumes breathing.

“You need to rest, Clara…and warm up.  It’s cold as hell right now and you didn’t bother getting dressed after we finished up.  In fact, you went out like a light before me.  I had to work out how to slip the handcuffs myself.  I mean, it wasn’t hard.  You left the keys nearby, so it was just a matter of fiddling with them til I could get a good grip in the dark.”                                                                                                                               

“Oh god, Aiden, I did, didn’t I?  What was I thinking?”

He smiles.

“Thought doesn’t work when you’re about to black out.”

It is freezing cold.  The entire world around us is this cold, windy stillness, as the shadows of tree branches come through the bathroom window.

We’re both so tired that I don’t think we even say it, but we both get the idea of showering together, holding each other for warmth, trying to wash away our anxieties under the hot water, steam, and soap.  The night feels like an old nightmare, and this feels like our one solitude.

I also don’t remember getting dressed again.

We just sleep.

And as long as I can hear him breathing, I’ll be okay.


	11. Skin Trade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aiden and Clara go looking for trouble.

I am the vigilante.

And I’m currently awake in Clara’s apartment, watching her sleeping, singing softly old Irish tunes as she rests her head, dizzy with anxieties.  She’s beautiful, her gentle eyes shut, her slender body curled up for warmth.

I never thought I’d have anything to fight for after avenging my niece. Now, I have two things I fight for.

One is people.  I’m against anything that hurts people.  You try to control people, take away their freedoms and privacy, I’ll take you down.  You try to exploit and hurt innocents, I’ll take you down hard—and blow up anything and everything I have to stop you.

The other thing is Clara.  She’s people, but she’s more than that.  With her, it’s personal.  She got a second chance and she took it.  I just want to make sure she’s alive long enough to enjoy it.

This is our second chance.  It’s dark, and quiet, and small.  We’re two broken people trying to do the right thing, but for once I have hope.

The clock on the bedside table tells me it’s 6 AM.  Chicago is beginning to wake up and get the day started.  There’s a rising sun on the edge of the horizon, and I can hear cars already moving on the street below.  It almost reminds me of when I used to go to school as a kid, dimly waking up and looking down at the stirring world below.  It’s a quiet world at 6 AM.  The petty criminals have gone to sleep, but the real scum are just waking up.  Real evil takes its time, I’ve noticed. 

I used to be of the “justice never sleeps” mindset until I got into the habit of cuddling with Clara, and now I realize that justice had better sleep, or else it gets cranky.  I’m well aware I can be cold and abrupt—but being with Clara is like having all the ice in my heart melt at once into a super gothic rain.

The irony is, I’m kind of restless right now.  I want to go bust up a criminal operation, with Clara at my side.  To do that, though, I’m going to need some properly fitted body armour for her.  And some nice shiny new guns.

The DedSec app on my phone gets an alert.  I open it up.

HEY DEDSEC,

THIS IS YOUR PAL WRENCH.  LOOK, MAYBE YOU HAVEN’T NOTICED, BUT THERE’S BEEN A FUCKTON OF PROBLEMS WITH HUMAN TRAFFICKING LATELY.  I WAS WALKING HOME LAST NIGHT FROM A BAR AND I CAUGHT SOME ASSHOLES TRYING TO FORCE SOME TEENAGE GIRL TO COME WITH THEM FOR AN “INTERVIEW.”  AFTER I BUSTED A FUCKING CAP IN THEIR ASSES AND GOT HER TO SAFETY, I FOUND OUT THIS HAS BEEN GOING ON FOR WEEKS. THERE’S ANOTHER PROBLEM WITH THIS TOO.  I KEEP SEEING “EASY MONEY” ADS FOR SOLO PORN SHOOTS ALL AROUND THE BAY AREA, AND IF WHAT MY CONTACTS ARE SAYING IS TRUE, THEY’VE BEEN PLASTERED ALL OVER CHICAGO, NEW YORK, AND SOME SMALL PART OF WYOMING. WHY WYOMING?  FUCK IF I KNOW. DOES ANYONE ACTUALLY LIVE IN WYOMING?  THESE ARE MYSTERIES MAN WAS NOT MEANT TO SOLVE, PEOPLE.  BUT I THINK NOT EVEN THE NONEXISTENT CRYPTID GOBLIN PEOPLE OF WYOMING SHOULD BE KIDNAPPED AND RAPED, SO GET ON TEARING DOWN THOSE POSTERS.  THEY’RE NOT LEGIT.  BETTER YET, IF YOU FIND A LINK TO THESE ASSHOLES, TEAR ‘EM A NEW ONE PERSONALLY.  WE’RE DEDSEC.  TIME TO MAKE THESE CREEPS PAY.  I’VE PUT UP A SCAN OF THE POSTER AND MY BUDDIES SHOULD BE POSTING COPIES FROM THE OTHER CITIES.  GOOD LUCK.

Huh.  Looks like my prayers have been answered.  Sure enough, there’s a poster from the Chicago area.  I recognize it, actually.  Saw a copy on a post nearby the other day, but I didn’t think much of it at the time.  That’s insidious, of course, the way they can just make these kidnapping operations background filler.

But I’m a fox.  And I can root this evil out of the background.

“Hey Clara,” I say, calmly.  “How would you like to bust some human traffickers’ skulls?”

“When do we start?” she asks, having bolted immediately upright.

“Today.  Your San Francisco DedSec buddies have been doing some digging.  There’s a bunch of perverts and traffickers putting up posters advertising jobs for solo porn shoots.  When you book the audition, they kidnap you.  They made the mistake of coming to Chicago, however, and that’s where we come in.”

“Aiden.  I have a perfect idea how to get to them.  I’ll use myself as bait.”

I frown.

“I was going to say we could call and trace them by phone.”

“You do that then. But as you do that, I’ll let them take me and hijack their vehicle from the inside.  When I subdue the driver, you make him talk.”

“This is an abjectly terrible plan.  But I know you, and there’s no talking you out of it.”

Clara’s eyes water a bit.

“Aiden, the reason I’m doing zis is because when I was back in Quebec, one of my friends went missing the exact same way.  I found her violated, broken body lying dead in a gutter.  Nobody cared. A few nights later I went to look for some porn online, desperate to get my mind off of ‘er.  I was looking for rough stuff, because I was feeling guilty over not being there for ‘er. I found a video…and it was her being raped.  The cops didn’t do shit when I told them about it.  So I’m going to help take them down from inside.”

I nod somberly.  Guilt is a powerful motivator.  But I have another way of helping her.

“I have an in myself,” I say.  “I’ve stolen the identity of a trafficker.  I know the codewords they use in this business and if I bring you in with me as a Trojan…”

“…we can tear shit up together with less risk.  I like zat.”

The doorbell rings, breaking us of our thoughts.  Clara opens the door, and finds...

..Jordi Chin.

“Holy shit, it’s a zombie,” Jordi deadpans, looking over Clara the way most people look at an interesting poster.  “Aren’t you supposed to be dead?  Aiden was bitching and moaning for months about how you were dead and how he didn’t deserve you.  I swear guilt is your porn, Aiden.  If they made videos of hot chicks calling you out on your perceived failures, I guarantee PornHub’s traffic would triple in one night all because of you. Somehow.”

He shuts the door behind him and throws a bundle on the couch, which turns out to be the clothes I left at the McDonalds the other night.

“Anyway, I came to give Captain Edgelord here his superhero cape back, but I can see he’s busily entertaining the dearly departed.  Care to fill an old friend in?”

I draw my gun and aim it at Jordi, but he just laughs.

“Aiden, you and I both know you don’t plan on firing that.  Put it away, you can’t just go shoving your Freudian symbol in peoples’ faces. Besides, as much as I love you Aiden, I don’t want to take you away from your new undead girlfriend.  Or should that be un-DedSec?  They’re real broken up you died.”

“Can I tell him?” I ask Clara.  It’s her prerogative.

“Sure.  But he’d better keep quiet.”

“Hey,” Jordi says.  “I may do anything for an easy buck, but I’m not going to sell you out.  I owe that much to Aiden.  I also owe it to myself, because if anything happens to you, I’m going to have to start killing more people to cover up the awkward questions that get left behind when fox-boy here starts going on one of his ‘I WILL AVENGE YOU, MY LOVE’ rampages.”

I sigh heavily.  Jordi has a very…special…sense of humour.  It’s sort of the kind serial killers have.

“Clara faked her death to get away from a Defalt-worshipping group of script kiddies with a taste for machine guns and domestic terrorism.  We’re taking them down together…and we’re also taking out some scumbag human traffickers.”

Jordi lights up.

“Is one of the human traffickers a guy named Niall Quinn?  Because if so, I’ve got a juicy contract on his head.  Billionaire’s daughter got murdered trying to escape one of his operations.  He wants revenge.”

“I’ve got a link to a bunch of buyers,” I say.  “One’s definitely Niall.”

“Then holy shit, get the living dead girl in the van and let’s go fuck up some human waste!  What’s the plan, vigilante?”

“I’m posing as a buyer.  Clara’s posing as talent.  We’re both packing.  Soon as we get in, we tear the place to shreds.  You…can distract for us.”

“Let me guess.  You’re going to order a pizza, and I do my bit with ‘not the pizza guy.’”

“Yep.”

“You like routine.  I can respect that.”

When we’re all sorted out, I have Jordi take her to an arms dealer I know to get her properly fitted.  I know, I know.  Illegal.  It’s the lesser of two evils here, however.

I grin when she steps out in a bulletproof vest, thigh-high boots, and a shiny new set of pistols.

“You look like a million, Clara.”

“And you look like you always do, Aiden,” Clara deadpans.  “Get a new coat.”

“You two can flirt later.  Right now, we’ve got scum to wipe out,” Jordi says, motioning for me to call the porn studio.

“Hello,” says the voice on the other end.  “My name’s Carla, how can I help you?”

“Hello, Carla.  This is John Nabokov.  I have someone looking for work.”

The voice drops from cheerful to businesslike instantly.

“Describe her.”

“White.  Early 20s.  Goth.  Enjoys physical activity.  Dominant but submissive.”

“We could use her.”

“I’m sure you could.  I’ll bring her. You bring the cash and we’ll meet at your address.”

“How much?”

“Hundred grand.  I want 50 grand upfront.”

“I’ll pay the rest only when I see her myself.”

“She’s to die for.”

“You better promise.”

“Trust me.  You’ll just die when you see her.”

Jordi laughs as I hang up.

“Jesus Christ, Aiden.  And people say I overdo it.”

I slide up my mask.

“Ready, Clara?”  I ask, ignoring Jordi’s little jab.

“I’ve been waiting for zis for a while, Aiden,” she smiles, pushing back her hair and pouting flirtatiously.  “Let’s go hunting.”


End file.
